


A Favor for a Friend

by Darknessfollowsthelight



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Geralt is with Yenn, Iorveth gets captured, Lots of that, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Witcher 3 timeframe, geralt shows up later, im a slut for this pairing okay, just FYI, no noncanonical death though, probably slow burn, sorry mom, thst doesn't really matter though, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darknessfollowsthelight/pseuds/Darknessfollowsthelight
Summary: Geralt has a favor he needs to ask of a friend. Vernon Roche to be specific. He needs to speak to an old friend no one has seen for some time now, an old friend who Roche has sworn to kill. Iorveth, the leader of the Scoia'tael, stands a chance at helping Geralt in his cause to find and protect Cirilla, if he can be found. Roche knows this task is no small undertaking, but it is for a friend who has saved both him and his men time and time again and perhaps he could get something out of the elf while he has him. So he agrees. After all, it's just a favor, right?





	1. Chapter 1

Iorveth watched from the lush treetops of the forest just outside Novigrad as the commander of the Temerian Blue Stipes marched through the undergrowth with a small group of soldiers. The elf knew he should just open fire, see how many he could take out before one of their own arrows found its mark, but he was also deeply curious. All d'hoines knew this forest belonged to the Scoia'tael, Roche especially. So why would they dare enter?

Iorveth followed them through the woods, traversing the thick branches with the grace of a true squirrel. Roche glanced in his general direction a few times, but his eyes never settled, never gave any sign he'd detected the elf. Nevertheless, each time Iorveth ducked behind the tree's trunk and silently drew a pair of daggers from where they rested on his hips. He waited a few breaths, feeling the weight of the daggers in his palm. He waited there until the sound of footsteps resumed and began to fade into the distance. Iorveth peered out from behind the wood at the soldiers retreating backs and sheathed his weapons. The commander rushed through the trees to regain the ground he'd lost. His unit was at stake.

The elf followed the group until they reached a small clearing at the base of a waterfall. The water was not loud enough to drown out full speech, but just loud enough to his footsteps and lowered voices. It also offered several hiding places behind the water and in small caves beneath the surface where one could hide supplies or hide themselves, if need be. That was why it was the main water source used by the Scoia'tael camp. A camp that was barely half a mile away. Iorveth took his bow off his back and readied it, aiming the docked arrow directly for the unprotected throat of the commander of the Blue Stripes. 

Only to have said commander look directly at him and smile. A quick flick of the hand gave the soldiers the cue they had been waiting for. The Temerians spun quickly, almost too quick for humans, and trained their crossbows on Iorveth. In that moment, he knew that, yes, theoretically he could let his arrow loose and it would likely kill Roche, but he'd be dead before the arrow even hit home.

"Iorveth!" Roche called, approaching the tree the elf was standing in. As he spoke, Iorveth noticed the crossbowmen broadening their line to form a ring around the tree, cutting off all possible escape routes. "Drop your weapons and come to ground or we will shoot you out of that tree like a proper squirrel!"  
Iorveth froze, weighing his options for a minute. Either way, he was dead. He'd known that the moment he'd seen the commander smile. There was no doubt the Temerians would kill him at the end of whatever they had planned. He could force them to kill him now, become a martyr for the cause. But he didn't know if the Scoia'tael could handle another martyr. So many of the heroes ended up dead on the battlefield or in an enemies dungeon after having spilled their guts, both figuratively and literally. If he died, it could crush the last bit of morale within the fight for free elves. But maybe if he was captured and escaped, he could reinvigorate them. He could possibly escape with some secrets, some plans, some knowledge of who was loyal and who could be swayed with enough coin. Maybe he could destroy them from the inside. Maybe he was worth more alive than dead.

Iorveth slowly lowered his bow and began unsheathing his various knives and sword, letting them fall to the ground with a slight thump. 

"I'd like to request to come down with my bow and lay it down, if it pleases his highness," Iorveth appealed to the commander below him.

"One of my men will catch it. Now drop the bow and quiver or the first arrows will go through your hands." Roche's voice was stern and Iorveth knew in an instant that he was not exaggerating. All the Termerians needed him for was an interrogation and public execution. He felt himself swallow heavily and let his bow and arrows fall to the ground with a thud. He winced slightly at the sound, knowing there would be damage to the bow's balance from such a fall and that many of the arrows in the quiver were now likely chipped or otherwise damaged. His reaction did not go unnoticed, judging by the bitter laughs or cruel smirks on the faces of the soldiers whose crossbows were aimed at him. The elf risked a glance at Roche, but his face was unchanged from its emotionless glare.

Iorveth watched a soldier come forward to collect his weapons and place them in a bundle beside Roche with more care than he'd expected. Iorveth watched as the commander buckled the pack before gesturing for the elf to come down from the tree. The elf swallowed heavily before beginning his decent into the circle of enemy soldiers surrounding him.

Iorveth was keenly aware of the rough bark of the tree digging into his gloved hands and of the crossbow arrows which followed him down the length of the tree until he eventually hit the ground softly. Within moments, the elf felt the point of a crossbow hit the small of his back and a flurry of movement behind him as his arms were yanked behind his back and tied with a rough length of rope. Iorveth tested the knot for give and found none. The rope bit into his skin sharply and he knew instantly there were already dark purple bruises forming beneath his binds. The end of an arrow found the elf's back again.

"Move," the soldier growled. Iorveth slowly began walking the direction he was pointed, toward Roche and the waterfall. The commander watched the elf's cautious steps with a slight smirk transforming his stoic features. 

"Knock him out," came the commander's order, "We'll move faster if he's unconscious. I don't want him to know where he is when he wakes up." Roche walked back to lean against a tall tree opposite the one Iorveth had been cornered in to wait for his orders to be carried out by the men surrounding the elf. Iorveth's eyes widened as two soldiers came flank him, gripping his arms tightly as a third came closer. The human sheathed a dagger from a sheath on his thigh and readied the hilt to slam into the elf's temple. Iorveth struggled against his captors to no avail, and he watched as the human crept towards him with a grim, predatory smile, like a wolf who knew he'd cornered an injured deer. Iorveth felt the sharp edge of the crossbow's arrow once more and noticed that this time, the soldier hadn't wasted his arrow on Iorveth's armor-covered back. Instead, he felt the tip of the arrow press against his collar and touch the back of his neck. He froze. The armor there would barely even slow the arrow and everyone in that clearing knew it damn well.

The human stalked toward Iorveth, weighing the dagger in his hand the whole way. The predatory gleam never slipped from his face. The men at Iorveth's side tightened their grip on his arms. The soldier came close enough to Iorveth for the elf to taste his breath as the man reached up to trace the tips of his pointed ears with the blade of the weapon. He tasted of old booze. Of a man no longer drinking for pleasure, but to forget. 

"You killed my sister," the human growled, suddenly clenching his free hand around the elf's ear and moving the dagger to be even with the tip. Iorveth hissed in a mixture of surprise and pain. From over the man's shoulder, the elf could see Roche push himself up off of the tree he'd been leaning on and a small woman ducking out of the shadows near him. "Do you remember her? No, of course you don't. Just another notch in your belt, huh?" The knife pressed against the tip of his ear, drawling a small drop of blood. "Do you think your precious Scoia'tael will take you back when your ears are no sharper than ours?" Iorveth felt the grip of the man tighten and the knife forced itself further into the elf's flesh. He was beginning to feel a small trickle of crimson blood when the man before him was pulled away roughly. 

Instead, now a young woman stood before him, blonde hair cropped short. The one that had emerged from the shadows by Roche. The commander stood just behind her, barking orders and reprimands at those around him. Iorveth didn't know what about. His mind was still trying to comprehend what had just happened. What was still happening. The elf let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and worked on regaining his breath. The woman said something to the men holding him, causing them both to drop his arms as if they were acid and walk off to the far side of the clearing, likely to await further orders. Even the crossbow vanished from his neck. 

So this was the girl Roche had rescued all those years ago.

Roche approached them. He slammed an elbow into Iorveth's temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Iorveth opened his eye to a slit and, through blurred vision and a ringing in his ears, watched as Roche seemed to chastise his other soldiers for not stepping in to prevent his torture. His unnecessary torture, that is. Likely, more would come whenever they arrived at whatever dungeon they were dragging him to. 

Soon enough though , Roche seemed to give up on this course of action as it looked to be getting him nowhere. Iorveth watched him roll his eyes before turning and bending to loop his arms under those of the elf. He nodded to the woman and then down at the elf's legs, gesturing for her to take that end of him. She huffed and rolled her eyes but quickly did as she was told, looking like no more than a petulant child. Iorveth felt himself being lifted from the ground and carried a short ways, drifting in and out of consciousness all the while, until the sun shone down on his face. The elf opened his lone green eye hesitantly and it was immediately pulled to a small wagon drawn by two grey nags stopped on the side of the road. The Temerians in front of him were splitting off to surround it, whereas Roche and the blonde woman carrying his legs simply climbed up and into the wagon. Inside was a large array of various supplies in different kinds of bags and crates as well as two chairs and a small desk which were bolted to the floorboards. Iorveth let his eye slide closed once more and felt the humans gently set him down in one of the seats. Rope was wrapped around his ankles and waist to bind him to the chair before the woman carefully sliced off the rope binding his hands, revealing large, purple bruises encircling each one. Iorveth heard her hiss audibly at the sight and footsteps drew nearer from across the wagon. Two separate pairs of hands gripped his arms, each equally callused, but one smaller and gentler than the other.

"That's the last time that group is going on a mission for quite some time, I think," Iorveth heard Roche grumble. A heavy sigh escaped lips and he applied soft pressure to the bruises, causing Iorveth to hiss in pain and yank his arm back. The other hand dropped him as if he'd burned it and the elf heard a distinct shuffling noise as the two lurched away from him. Cover blown, Iorveth opened his eye.

The two stood before him, the woman's sword already drawn, while Roche gripped the hilt of his. 

"You both realise I'm still tied to this chair, right?" The elf drawled, still not recovered from Roche's earlier punch. 

"Your arms are unbound," the woman pointed out.

"Yes, because I'm clearly in a position to do a lot with those."

Roche sighed, relaxing his posture and removing his hand from the hilt of his sword. "Bind his arms, Ves. Do it at the forearms so you don't hurt his wrists more. We need him whole." The woman, Ves, set her weapon on a crate far out of the reach of the elf, and stepped toward him, her boots clicking noisily on the wooden floor. She pulled two leather straps from a nearby crate and forced the elf's left arm down to to the arm of the chair with what was arguably more force than was necessary. The elf hissed through his teeth as she wrapped the leather around both the arm of the chair and Iorveth's flesh, locking the two in place. The binding was tight enough that Iorveth knew struggling would be worthless, but it caused him no pain so he placed his other arm down for her to lock in place. The metal clicked just as a shout and a whip cracking was heard outside as the wagon lurched forward. 

"May I ask where you're taking me?" Iorveth mumbled softly, noting that his mouth still held the faint tang of blood from Roche's punch. 

"You can ask," Roche responded, "but you'll get no answer." The elf barked a bitter laugh in reply. 

"Honestly, don't you have bigger fish to fry then the Scoia'tael now? Does the invasion of the Nilfgaardians and the radicalism of the Eternal Fire and the King of Redania not concern you?" 

"It does," Roche replied smugly, "but every dog needs a chew toy every now and then, and your ears seemed perfect." The commander's normally stoic face was overtaken by a grim smile and Iorveth felt horror overtake his features before he could stop it. 

To the side, Ves picked up a waterskin, scowling at her commander all the while, and approached Iorveth with it. She held it to his lips, which the elf refused to open, now beginning to experiment with his bonds. "It's alright," she whispered to him, "It's tea to make you fall asleep. He's just going to keep trying to torture you if you stay awake."

Iorveth scoffed. "I don't think it's a bluff if that's what you're suggesting. Though he'll have plenty of time for it when we get to wherever we're going, I'm sure." Ves sighed at his negativity and held up the waterskin again. 

"Do you want it or not?" 

"No." 

"Fine. Roche, knock him out again, he's refusing the tea and I don't want to have to watch him the whole way to camp." Roche crossed the floor so quickly, Iorveth barely had time to open his mouth in protest before a first connected with his jaw and the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We arrive at camp, Iorveth tries to be flippant about his situation and Ves is having none of it. Also, an old friend of the Temerians arrives.

Iorveth woke to a pounding in his skull. There was noise around him, someone moving crates and boxes and someone else shuffling papers around on a desk. The elf became aware of the fact that he was sitting on some kind of cold stone floor with his legs stretched out in front of him. The coolness of the stone seeped into his skin and forced Iorveth to let out an involuntary shiver. His arms were chained above his head, wrists held once again by loose leather straps. The elven commander at last decided to bite the bullet and cracked open one eye, green as the forest he called home.

He was not in a dungeon as he'd first suspected. Instead, Iorveth seemed to be chained up in some sort of cavern, with a tall roof and narrow openings which he suspected led to other rooms like this one. The room was sparsely furnished. It's only real furniture was a small cot which was pushed against the far wall, and a desk and chair againt the wall opposite him. However, boxes containing various supplies lined the walls, all at least an arms length away from the chained elf. Was this really where the Blue Stripes had been hiding? Iorveth knew things had gotten bad for them since the death of Foltest, but this was no better than the Scoia'tael camps in the forests. In fact, it was likely much worse. The elves had been living in the forests for decades, even centuries in some cases. They knew how to hunt and gather in the different seasons, where to find fresh water, and could easily hide among the branches of the trees if they were ever attacked. Here, there was none of that. No fresh food to be seen, and all that was available was preserved and looked to be brought from the city. Iorveth could hear no running water nearby, though his headache made it difficult to listen closely, and should the humans ever be attacked here, they would be cornered like rats. 

Not that he was complaining. All the easier to slaughter them when he escaped.

Iorveth turned his attention to the two people making all the noise. Ves stood to his left, rearranging the crates of what looked to be different types of cloth in the corner of the room. Vernon Roche, however, sat at the desk almost directly across from him, looking over what appeared to be letters of some kind. Likely of a spy or some ally of the Blue Stripes. Iorveth brought his legs up to his chest, struggling to stand. He clenched his jaw in pain when the movement pulled on the deep blue bruises that ringed his wrists. The chains rattled softly as the elf struggled to bring himself to his feet, causing both Roche and Ves to turn to look at him. The blonde unsheathed her dagger, but held it loosely. A show of power more than a threat, then. Iorveth swayed on his feet, but managed to stay upright.

"Well, well, well. Good morning Sleeping Beauty," Roche crooned, an amused smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. "I have a guest coming who wants to speak with you. He should be here any day now. In the meantime, you get to stay here with us."

"And see how long it takes one of you to kill me?"

"Don't be foolish. Then I'd have to explain to our guest why there's a dead elf in my quarters. Besides, I'll never waste a chance to get some information out of an elf leader."

"What so you just captured me for a favor to a friend and a bit of information? You expect me to believe that? Entire elven units end up dead for less than that."

Roche was silent to that, unsure of how to respond. Iorveth studied his impassive face for any flicker of emotion, finding none. With a sigh, he turned back to his papers, eyes skimming over the long pages. Ves rolled her eyes before putting her dagger away and walking over to the commander. 

"If you've nothing left for me to do, I'm getting dinner. Do you want me to bring you some?" She rested a hand on his shoulder, bending down to read the documents over his shoulder. 

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Ves," the commander replied roughly. She glanced back at the elf chained to the wall of the cavern before turning her attention back the papers before her. 

"What about him?" she questioned.

Roche sighed and turned to look at Iorveth. "If we give you food, will you actually eat it?"

"That depends," the Aen Seidhe replied, "will it be poisoned?"

"Iorveth, I assure you that when I kill you it will be in a matter far more intimate and painful than some hemlock in your soup."

The elf nodded, looking almost ashamed he'd asked such a question. "Very well then. Yes, I suppose I would." 

Ves nodded at him and straightened from her position over the papers. "Remember, Thaler can take care of himself. I'm sure he's fine," she stressed to Roche.

"I know," the Temerian commander replied, "I just wish the witcher would hurry up and find him." Ves nodded and quickly turned on her heel, leaving the room in a deep, uncomfortable silence.

"So when is the part where you torture me to try to get information about the Scoia'tael coming? I just want to mentally prepare myself for all the cursing I'll have to do at you," the elf inquired, not entirely sarcastic. Roche turned back to the watch Iorveth, exasperation written clearly on every inch of his face.

"Would it kill you to not be so cynical all the time?"

"Possibly, yes."

Roche sighed heavily and let his head fall to his desk, muttering something along the lines of "I knew I should have said no." After a moment, he lifted his head from the desk. "The most torture you'll have to deal with it what happened on the way here. Unless, that is, you irritate me too much. I promised I'd keep you in one piece, but I may happen to step out for a brief moment and some of the more vengeful soldiers may find their way in here."

Before Iorveth could reply, Ves strode back into the small room with a bowl of some kind of stew in each hand and a third balanced in the crux of her elbow. Roche stood and took the third bowl from her, setting it down on the table as Ves put the other two directly beside it. The commander crossed the distance to the elf, unlocking the first leather binding encircling his wrist. Roche quickly gripped Iorveth's now free wrist and slammed it into the wall above his head, eliciting a started yelp from the elf. He leaned in close and growled into the ear of the captive, "I'm only doing this because I know those chains are too short for you to eat with them on, but you try anything, anything at all, and you can stay chained to that wall until the day you die." 

Iorveth nodded and Roche lingered before him for a moment before dropping his arm and unlatching the other wrist. Ves held out a bowl of stew and a spoon to him, which the elf gratefully accepted. He moved to lean against the wall again, cradling his stew close to his chest. The elf's stomach growled loudly, revealing how long it had truly been since he'd last eaten. Ves smiled softly at the noise, like she was trying to hold in a laugh. 

"Do they not feed you in the forest, elf?" Roche asked, a cocky smile decorating his face. 

"Things get harder when more and more of your people stop returning from hunts," Iorveth replied without a hint of humor. The smiles immediately left the faces of the two humans before him. Iorveth knew they now included themselves in the same kind of guerrilla warfare the Scoia'tael had been fighting for so long. He knew instead of elves along, they saw their brothers-in-arms among the dead. 

However, Iorveth also knew the two were working together to get his guard down, to get him to reveal his secrets. That was not going to happen. Truthfully, this season hadn't been bad for the Scoia'tael, in terms of food at least. There had been a plentiful harvest of fruit and berries, most of which were dried and set aside for winter, the movement of humans outward forced the wildlife deeper into the forests, giving the elves more game to hunt, and the stream that flowed into the wallfall at was normally free of drowners, making for a good fishing location. But the Temerians didn't need to know that. Better they think the Scoia'tael were on their last legs. Then a surprise attack when he escaped would be all the more unexpected.

Iorveth turned his attention to his food, taking a small spoonful of it into his mouth. Stewed potatoes and carrots floated in the soup along with what appeared to be rabbit. The meat was stringy and gamey and if he closed his eyes, it almost felt like he was back in the camp. Ves and Roche conversed in low voices across for him, just barely too quiet for him to pick up. The woman laughed softly at something the commander had said and Iorveth wondered exactly what kind of relationship the two had. It was far more intimate than that which the other soldiers shared with their commander, but Iorveth couldn't tell if the bond was simply one of friendship or of a familial sort. The concept of lovers crossed his mind, but the elf quickly banished it, feeling oddly sick at the thought.

The commander stood shortly after, stacking Ves' empty bowl on top of his own before turning to Iorveth. "Finished, elf?" Iorveth said nothing, but Roche evidently either knew his answer or simply didn't care as the mostly empty bowl was yanked from his hands. "Lock him up, Ves. I'll be back in a bit. I have a meeting in Novigrad."

Ves nodded and Iorveth watched as the man turned on his heel and walked out through the carven's opening. The elf turned his attention to Ves, who was watching him intently. For a moment, he considered overpowering her and beginning his escape now, but the elf quickly sobered up when he realized he didn't even know his way out of the cave system, much less how to get back to camp. Ves approached him cautiously, like a hunter approaching a wounded wolf. 

"It'd be easier if you sat down, you know," Ves complained, reaching for the leather strap to bind Iorveth's right arm. 

"It'd also make more vulnerable," he replied. The latch clicked into place as his wrist was bound and Iorveth noted that she still kept it somewhat loose, though Roche had not told her to do so.

"Look, Iorveth," the human woman stood upright, placing her hands on her hips. She spat his name like it was a curse. "If I wanted to, I could take this crossbow off my back, stand on the other side of this room, and put an arrow through that other eye of yours. If you were here because Roche had wanted you captured, you'd already have half of your blood pooling around you from interrogation and would be on your way to a pyre in Novigrad tomorrow morning. Vulnerability is not your main concern." The other lock clicked into place on Iorveth's left arm, this one noticeably tighter than that of his right. "Besides," she continued, "we already got a hell of a lot of information out of you."

"How so?"

"Your camp is near where we captured you, isn't it? You wouldn't have let us take you so easily if there wasn't something you were protecting."

The elf schooled his face into careful disinterest. He scoffed. "Interestingly enough, I simply though I was worth more alive than dead."

Ves smiled, a quiet, dangerous smile. One that warned the worst was yet to come. "Very well," was all she said in reply, taking up the seat at Roche's desk. There she stayed for what felt like hours, not that the elf had much to occupy him as the minutes slowly ticked by. Ves would occasionally turn and ask him the spelling of a word or comment on the excessive cursing in the letters and other papers she was sorting through. At last, all of the papers were read, sorted, and replied to, if necessary. Ves stood and offered to get Iorveth some water (he declined) before shrugging her shoulders and walking out, leaving Iorveth completely alone for the first time since his capture. The elf pulled at his bonds, cursing at the pressure applied to his hurt wrists. He twisted and pulled at different angles and strengths, to no avail. The humans had not dared leave anything sharp within several arm lengths of their captive either. They were learning, at least. 

Ves returned soon enough with a small waterskin in her hands as well as a small bundle of wood with two pieces of flint. The waterskin was left on the desk and the bundle of wood was set down in the middle of the room underneath a hole in the stone above them no larger than the desk chair. 

"It gets cold at night," Ves explained, "I'd rather not have to huddle for warmth, if you don't mind." Without waiting for a response, she set about lighting a small fire in the room's center with the two pieces of flint. A few sparks came and died amongst the cold rock floor of the cave, but after a few attempts, a small blaze was burning before them. Ves moved to the cot on the opposite side of the room, taking off only her boots and weapons before laying down across the cool linen sheets. "Don't do anything stupid," she warned, her eyes already half closed, "Roche will be back by morning."

Iorveth leaned his head back against the cool stone of the cave's wall, luring just a moment of sleep to him. His headache was slowly abating, likely due in part to the food he'd eaten, and the elf felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him, though he'd done nothing to merit it. Sleep had almost come to him when a pair of boots running down the hall startled both he and Ves into alertness.

"Ves! Ves!" a guard called, skidding to a stop in the doorway. The woman had already pulled on her boots and reattached most of her weapons. 

"What is it? Spit it out, man!"

"It's Thaler! He's returned!"

A grin broke out on Ves' face as she stood from the bed. "Well, what are you waiting for! Bring him in!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos! This story has already gotten a lot of love and I really appreciate all of it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is where we're getting out of the canonical timeline. So, for the purpose of this fic, Radovid's quest comes before the Battle of Kaer Morhen, just because I forgot until I had the fic planned out that it was meant to be after. Also, I'm saying Phillipa's quests of finding her and getting her away from Dijkstra happened before this and she left Novigrad with Triss and the other mages.
> 
> AWESOME. WOW.  
> OKAY HAVE FUN

Thaler was by no means a soft spoken man. In fact, had he not walked perfectly steadily and spoken of such intelligent topics, Iorveth would have said he was drunk out of his mind. Though the majority of the conversation was happening several rooms over, the elven commander could easily make out much of the conversation. 

"Emhyr has agreed to our terms, so long as we can hold up our end of the bargain. I just still don't know how we're going to get Radovid off his ploughing ship!" Thaler yelled from the next room. Evidently, however, not all had forgotten an old enemy was chained up in the next room as he was quickly shushed. There was only one possible reason the Temerians would want to get Radovid off of his ship: to kill him. Iorveth knew this, and he also knew that, if Emhyr held true to whatever agreement they had made, this would be the closest Temeria would come to freedom for a long time. Still, the irony of the Temerians conspiring to kill a king, of Roche conspiring to kill a king, pressed down hard upon him. That sounded awfully familiar. 

Thaler apparently took the hushing of those around him to heart, however, as Iorveth could pick up no more than bits and pieces of the conversation from then on. Never enough to draw any conclusions with. The fire Ves had lit was waning and Iorveth drifted in and out of sleep, glancing toward the chimney-like hole in the roof each time he woke to see if morning had come yet. One thing was for sure though: Ves had not lied when she said it got cold at night. By the third time he'd awoken, the fire had completely burned out, leaving the room nearly pitch black and allowing the cold of the rocks to leech its way into the elf's bones. He shivered, rattling his chains slightly. The only light came from the stars visible through the gap in the ceiling and even with that Iorveth could barely make out his own hand in front of his face. 

Ves still hadn't returned from the front room, but by the sound of the voices, Roche had returned from Novigrad. A soft glow still emanated from the hall, a blaze burning low in a nearby room. The raucous laughter that flooded the halls a few hours earlier was replaced by a low murmer of voices contemplating different battle strategies and information that had been gathered. Roche's deep baritone drifted down the halls, occasionally interrupted by Ves' higher chirps of protest or suggestions. Thaler's voice still sounded as though he was a bit drunk, but he'd taken on a more grave tone as he corrected or contemplated the conversation.

"Dijkstra said the bastard won't come off that ship for anything. The best we could hope for would be if we can convince Geralt to help us. If he can find someway to convince Radovid that he has Eilhart, or at least knows where she is, that crazy bastard will come prancing off his ship just to be the one to kill her himself." Roche's voice was hard, restrained. As if he knew with every word, the scenario he painted became more and more unlikely. 

"We don't even know if the bloody witcher wants to help us!" Thaler exclaimed. 

"He will," Ves assured them. "Radovid is a threat to both Yennefer and Triss. Even Ciri, if he could get his hands on her, not even considering the fact that she's heir to Nilfgaard's crown. He'll help." 

"You sound awfully sure of that, Ves," Roche prodded.

"Everyone has to believe in something," she answered softly. 

"Do we know when Geralt will be back at all?" Roche questioned, moving the discussion on.

"Bloody bastard said he only had a couple things to take care of. I figured he'd be an hour or two behind me at most," Thaler answered clearly exasperated. 

 

"Dijkstra will know where he is before we do. He'll call a meeting as soon as the witcher gets here, I'm certain of it." Roche's certainty was easily heard in his commanding tone, leaving no room for argument. "Now, if you both don't mind, I'd like to go to sleep for the last few hours before sunrise. Ves, how's our guest?"

"Fine, as far as I can tell. Still arrogant and distrustful of everything we say or do. I bet he's been listening to us this entire time."

Iorveth heard someone get to their feet. He snapped his eyes shut and attempted to relax his body into a sleep-like posture as he mulled over what he'd heard. The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, was who they were waiting on for help in assassinating the King of Redania. The same witcher who allied himself with Iorveth and the Scoia'tael not too long ago and had saved their women when the humans of Flotsam waited to watch them burn. Surely Gwynbleidd wouldn't help these kingslayers. This was what got him into trouble in the first place, and in the last instance he hadn't even been guilty. Surely Gwynbleidd would also help the captive elven commander to escape. The elf liked to think that, though the two may not be friends, they were at least still allies. With any luck, that would be enough. 

Iorveth heard Roche's heavy footsteps as he made his way down to the room the elf was chained in and, he assumed, was Roche's quarters. The elf must have missed the trio's nightly farewells. That, or they simply hadn't given any. Iorveth knew, however, that Roche's footfalls were not normally so loud. That he was making noise on purpose. Whether to frighten Iorveth into being submissive or simply to ensure he didn't startle the elf with his sudden enternece. The Temerian entered the room and instantly let out a quick curse upon seeking the lack of flame in the room. Iorveth cracked his eye open. Roche was arranging a small pile of sticks upon what was left of Ves' earlier fire. He drew two small pieces of flint from the pocket of his overcoat and seamlessly struck a spark onto the kindling at the top of the pile. The small blaze bathed the room in a low light and Iorveth shifted to be closer to the warmth of the fire.

"Why didn't you tell anyone the fire went out?" Roche asked, turned and pulling off his chaperon off of his head and revealing his dark, dirty blond hair. He began the process of pulling his weapons off his person and laying them on the crates beside the cot. 

"No one was in here."

"You could have yelled."

"I still have some pride."

Roche turned to rack his gaze up and down the elf's crumpled, captive form and a slight smile formed on his lips. "Clearly. Anyway, your correspondent should be here in the next day or two, so you won't have to deal with it for too long."

"Are you allowed to tell me who it is that wants to meet me?"

"I am," Roche shrugged off most of his armor and sat down on the edge of the bed, "but this is more fun." Iorveth sighed, laying his head back against the cold stone behind him. Roche let out a soft chuckle. "Goodnight, squirrel. Maybe Ves will let you move some tomorrow to stretch your legs."

"Where will you be?"

"Around. Hopefully in another meeting if one gets called. But for now, I'm going to sleep, so goodnight."

Iorveth didn't reply.

~~

The morning brought a light dew to cover everyone and everything in the caves. Roche opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. Iorveth slept chained to the cave wall opposite him, his chest raising and falling gently with each breath. The light coating of dew made his skin almost sparkle in the rays of the early morning sun creeping above the caverns. The elf's lips were slightly parted and the dew there made them glisten brighter than the rest of his skin. In sleep, he looked almost peaceful... kind. His features softened and became nearly boyish and Roche wondered how this could be the same elf wanted across the land for terrorism and mass murder. 

The fire he'd lit late last night was still burning low, and the human commander quickly took a pitcher of water and used it to dose the last embers that still burned before any smoke could be visible above their hideout in the early light of day. The wood hissed as water hit flame and turned to steam but any blaze left over was quickly extinguished. Roche stood, pulling on his armor and buckling various weapons onto his person. Pulling the chaperon onto his head, the human commander stalked out of the room, being oddly cautious to not wake the sleeping elf.

The rest of the camp was already bustling with movement. Roche collected his ration of bread and a jar of strawberry preserves for his breakfasts for the week and moved to sit with several of his soldiers. The commander let his men converse among themselves, occasionally adding a comment or barking a laugh at something one of them had said. Soon enough, however, Roche stood and went to search for Ves. She tended to take control when he was occupied in some way and would, therefore, know of any important news that'd come in the last few hours. In the end, Ves found him.

"Roche!" she called, jogging through the camp to meet him. "You were right. Geralt is back and Dijkstra has called a meeting between himself, the witcher, Thaler and you."

"I'm sensing a "but" coming, Ves. What is it?" 

"The witcher wants to speak with Iorveth first. Before he agrees to anything."

Roche sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. Where is he?"

"Outside camp, waiting for your approval."

"Bring him in. With any luck this will be the last time I see the elf before I drive a blade through his gut."

Ves nodded and went to fetch the witcher, though as she left he was able to detect a slight smile gracing her features. 

~~

Iorveth woke to the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing toward him in the hollow cavern near Roche's quarters. None of the Temerians he'd seen, either here or on the battlefield, wore heavy enough armor to make such a racket. Even Roche wore what was essentially nothing more than thick leather over a coat of chainmail. This must be someone knew then. Iorveth struggled to pull himself to his feets, not wanting to appear wholly defenceless, should the newcomer prove to be an enemy. The elf found that, though the effort still pained him, he found it to be substantially easier than it had the first time and, though still a shade of bluish-purple, the bruises on his wrists were no longer as dark, nor as painful as they were before. 

Ves entered the room first, a white-haired human following closely behind. It wasn't until the man fully looked at him and allowed Iorveth to see those yellow cat eyes that the elf actually recognised him. 

"Gwynbleidd."

"Greetings, Iorveth." 

Ves crossed the room, pulling a key from her pocket and unlocking Iorveth's chains. "I trust you can handle him?" she said to Geralt, who nodded. "Good. I'm going to do rounds. Yell if you need anything." With that she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Iorveth alone with Geralt of Rivia. The elf took advantage of his newfound freedom and immediately hobbled over to the desk and took a swig from the water skin that lay atop it.

"Are you the long that ordered them to find me, then?" the elf asked at last. 

"Yes."

"I hope for your sake you've got a damn good reason then. I may not be able to kill you, but I doubt even the famed Geralt of Rivia could survive being pierced by fifteen arrows at once."

Geralt didn't even flinch. "I need to ask for help."

Iorveth cocked his head to the side in mild interest. "What kind of help?"

"We found Ciri."

"Cirilla? Truly? Where is she?"

"On an island called the Isle of Mists somewhere off of Undvick. The Wild Hunt has been chasing her. We plan to find her and bring her to Kaer Morhen where we will make a stand."

"Against all of the Wild Hunt? You truly think you can defeat them?"

"Not as we are now. That's why I'm here. We need as many allies as we can get. If we could count on the help of the Scoia'tael or of your skills personally, they could prove invaluable."

Iorveth took another swig of water and thought over his response. "I'd be a lot more inclined to help you if you hadn't used my enemies to capture me."

Geralt sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. You hide yourselves so well, it's difficult to even know where to start. Even witchers find it difficult to track you when we have a starting clue. Ves kept tabs on you. She knew I was looking and offered help as a quid pro quo."

"Fine. You can count on my bow and I. I'll see if we have enough soldiers to spare to take a squadron or so."

"Thank you. I am in your debt."

The elf only nodded and stood, stretching his muscles and rubbing them to restore some of the blood flow. "Can I leave now? My men will be getting agitated by now."

"Tomorrow morning. I assume you've overheard the men talking about the plans we have for Radovid."

"Indeed. But I hate the bastard too, why would I try to hinder you? Once he kills all the mages, he'll come for us."

Geralt shrugged. "Roche insists. Can never be too careful, I suppose."

Roche entered the room in a rushed gate, Ves right on his heels. "Speak of the devil," the elf murmured. The humans ignored him, but Iorveth saw the corner of Geralt's mouth go up a tad. 

"Geralt, we're late. If we're to make the meeting we need to leave now," Roche stated, obviously irritated. The witcher nodded and followed Roche out, a faint "see you soon" being murmured to the elven commander. 

"Do you need anything before I chain you back up?" Ves asked him. 

"Nothing you would give me, I'm sure."

Ves sighed and began reattaching the metal to his wrists. "This is no fun for us either, I assure you. The camp is divided between wanting to kill you or just get you out as soon as possible." The metal clicked into place.

"And you?"

"Pardon?" Her eyes flicked up to meet his.

"Which side are you on?"

She sighed, buckling the last wrist into place. "I can scarcely believe it, but... I just want you gone. The Scoia'tael don't need another martyr." 

"My thoughts exactly."

And with that, she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into the heat of it now! Iorveth and Roche have a heart to heart and Iorveth begins questioning some feelings.

The Temerian camp was almost eerie after all the soldiers had left. Only the bare minimum remained to guard the cave system and Iorveth doubted even they would be here if he were not still a captive. This mission was one that made everyone apprehensive, so much so that even Iorveth felt it leaking into his bones. He found himself hoping Roche and Ves would make it out alive alongside Geralt, and that they would emerge with Radovid's head on a pike. The elf quickly corrected himself. No, any bloodshed tonight was good, so long as was it was not Gwynbliedd's. The more humans killed one another, the less there were for him to worry about. Nevertheless, the unease settled in the pit of the elf's stomach. 

~~

The sound of armor clanking alerted Iorveth to the camp returning from its mission. Yelling was heard clearly, but he couldn't pick out Roche's voice or Ves. Were they... No. The soldiers would have a deeper, more somber tone if their commander and second-in-command were dead. They were fine. They were alive. They had to be alive.

No one came to get him. No one came to tell him how the raid had gone, though he couldn't really blame them. They didn't owe him anything. They didn't even owe him his life. Occasionally, a soldier would enter his chamber to retrieve bandages or some kind of salve for the wounded. Of course injuries had surely occurred, and surely there were casualties. He'd been through this enough with his own men to know this was always the worst part of any raid. Tallying the gains and losses and figuring if the mission had truly been worth it. Most of the time the answer was yes for them. The Scoia'tael were largely ranged attackers and, therefore, rarely had to worry about casualties when raiding merchants and traders on the roads. 

It still hurt when they occurred though. It always hurt. Images of his fallen, Cedric, Ele'yas, Malena... Preventable? Perhaps. His fault? Perhaps. Iorveth always took comfort in the fact that he knew he was fighting a losing battle, them against the world, and that sacrifices had to be made. That never made it any better.

Within an hour or two, the activity in the camp calmed once more. The injured mostly had all either been tended to or had already breathed their last. Iorveth could hear the cursing from the next few chambers whenever one slipped away, the choked sobs of a man losing a brother. It made his heart feel a pang of sympathy. It was easy to let the arrows fly. Seeing and hearing the aftermath... that was harder. True sorrow and grief was what the Scoia'tael rarely saw. Vengeance and rage gripped nearly all humans they encountered, making a racial war for freedom quickly turn into a race for survival. The Blue Stripes were often on the opposing side, yes, and he did often take pleasure in killing them, but taking pleasure in their agony and suffering was altogether different. 

In any case, it seemed the raid hadn't been altogether too bad for the guerrillas though. Relatively few bodies had been carried out on cots, at least as far as the elf could see, and the sound levels seemed to be much the same as before. 

"Bloody fucking hell!" 

Roche stormed into his chamber, Ves hot on his heels. 

"We almost died because that ploughing whoreson decided he didn't want to keep his fucking word." He tore his weapons off and threw them to the ground with such ferocity Iorveth actually winced. He shrank back into the wall, hoping Roche would forget he was there. If the Temerian decided he needed to let off some steam, he had a chained leader of the Scoia'tael less than ten feet from him and Iorveth wasn't entirely sure he'd come out of that alive. 

"Roche. Listen to me," Ves started and Iorveth nearly did a double take at the commanding tone she used. It was a tone that left no room for debate, not room for complaints. "Were we betrayed? Yes. Did we come out alright? Yes. Did we prove to Emhyr and to the rest of the world that we are not to be trifled with? Yes." 

"If Geralt hadn't sided with us, we may not have walked out of there, we may have died back there, Ves." He'd slowed his movements, but was still unbuckling his last weapons and armor and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor. 

"I know. We also proved that we have friends we can rely on." Her voice softened and she laid a hand on Vernon's shoulder, rubbing it comfortably. The commander sighed, pulling his chaperon off his head and unbuckling the top layer of his armor. 

"Thank you, Ves. Could you tell the boys what happened and tell them they performed well? I can't do it tonight."

She nodded. "Get some sleep, Vernon. I know how you are when things go wrong. You obsess. This was not your fault and there was no way you could have known." With that, she turned and left the room, her voice calling for the attention of all the men in the camp. Vernon sighed and sat down his cot, taking his fingers through his hair. 

"I suppose you want to know what happened, don't you?" Iorveth froze, breath stuck in his throat. Roche was looking directly at him, brown eyes staring directly into his sole green one. He gave no response. "I'm not going to beat you. I saw you shrink back when we came in. I have some honor and, contrary to what you may think, I don't beat helpless men. Or elves."

"Isn't that what you did everyday for Foltest?"

Roche was to his feet in a heartbeat, pulling Iorveth from the ground and pushing him against the wall. "You keep his name out of your filthy mouth, squirrel. If it weren't for you, none of this would be happening." The Temerian stepped back and released the elven commander who raised his hands in surrender. 

"My apologies. I will admit, it seems Radovid and Henselt were the greater evils all along." 

Roche snorted. "I could have told you that years ago."

"Are you going to tell me what went wrong tonight? It didn't seem like you had many casualties, so it can't be that."

Roche's face went stony again and he crossed back to the bed, beginning to strip out of the rest of his clothes. "We were betrayed. Dijkstra, better known as Sigi Reuven in Novigrad, used to be a Redanian spy."

"So you involved him in a plot to kill his king?" Iorveth interrupted, dumbfounded.

"Dijkstra hated Radovid. Saw him as a danger to the country and a tyrant. We had an agreement with Emhyr of Nilfgaard," Roche ignored the elf's growl at the mention of the empire that had betrayed him, "that stated in return for Radovid's head and an end to guerrilla activities, Temeria would become only a vassal state of Nilfgaard." 

"Do you believe them?" 

"We all have to believe in something. It's the best we can hope for now." Roche sounded resigned, as if he knew this small victory was no where near worth its price. For a split second, Iorveth felt as though he was looking in a mirror. He saw a man, broken and defeated, yet refusing to give in, continuing to fight for a nearly lost cause. He had a flashback to when he had this same discussion with Geralt all those months ago regarding the fight for Upper Aedirn and Vergen. A homeland. That's all either of them wanted now. Hope. Safety. A place for him and his men to call their own.

"Be on your guard, Vernon," the elf found himself saying, "They'll find someway to fuck you over. They always do." 

A ghost of a smile crossed Roche's lips.  
"Are you actually trying to help me?"

"Enemy of my enemy is my friend. And I hate Nilfgaard a whole hell of a lot more than I hate Temeria."

"I suppose that's a good thing then. Anyway, Dijkstra decided this deal wasn't fair enough, so he was going to lead Redania and unite the North against Nilfgaard. Without us. Ves and I were due to meet him, along with Thaler and Geralt after Radovid was dead. Which, just as a side note, apparently Phillipa Eilhart was watching all of our meetings and was actually the one to stab the son of a bitch." Iorveth bristled at the name of the woman who tried to enslave Saskia. "Dijkstra was just planning to kill us all there when we arrived. Told Geralt it didn't concern him and to just leave. Thankfully, Geralt stayed and helped us fight off the bastards. Without him, I'm certain we would have died."

Iorveth was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Why tell me all this?" 

This time Roche did smile. "Not like you can tell anyone beside the other Scoia'tael. Plus, by the time you get back to them, it'll likely have spread as rumors at least."

Ves's speech had finished and it seemed the last of the last of the soldiers beside the guards were all heading off to sleep. "When exactly can I leave?" 

Roche glanced at the ceiling and let out a soft sigh. "How about right now?" 

Iorveth perked up like a dog being offered a scrap of meat from the table and Roche almost laughed. He fetched the key to the elf's chains off his desk and pulled another from the inside pocket of his armor. He undid Iorveth's chains and tried to hide his glance at the elf's hurt wrists. The elf stood cautiously, never taking his eyes off the human before him. He rubbed the fading bruises unconsciously. "How are they?" Roche asked. 

Iorveth's gaze changed from one of caution to one of curiosity and confusion. "Better. They're still sore, but I should be able to fight and use my bow now." 

Roche nodded and led the elf toward the exit. "Your stuff is in a chest in a grove of trees a few hundred yards to the left of the exit." He handed the elf the other key. "This will open it. And, Iorveth?"

The elf moved carefully between the rooms until he at least felt the cool night air on his face. "Yes, Roche?" 

"Do me a favor. I know your camp is less than an hour's walk from the waterfall we picked you up at. You now know where ours is. Agree with me right here, right now, that neither of us will attack the other's home base." It wasn't a question. It was an order. The Temerian stopped him where the crossbowmen above when could easily hear their conversation and the elf knew instinctually that they were all trained on him. He held out his hand. 

"Agreed." 

Roche clasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Good decision. Pleasure working with you, elf." 

"As always, dh'oine." The two turned the corner and Iorveth saw the beautiful blackness of the forest at night and almost dropped to his knees with relief. He wasn't sure he'd ever see it again. Without waiting for permission, the elf darted out into the shadows and immediately melded into them, moving as quickly as he could away from the Temerians.

"Let him go." Roche's voice was the last the noise from the camp the elf heard as he began the hunt for his belongings.

~~

The chest was indeed where Roche had said it would be and the elf was pleasantly surprised to find none of its contents had been damaged, save a few chipped arrows. He slung on what little armor he'd been stripped of and reattached his weapons. After placing the last of his belongings into their rightful places on his person, Iorveth carefully closed the chest, leaving the key under one of the corners. The elf straightened and moved a short distance away, scaling a tree and to wait for sunrise so that he may be some idea of where he was and where to go to get home. Pulling a skin of water and a small bag of dried berries from his bag, the elf settled in for a night back in his forest. 

The first few hours went by with little occurrence. However, all too soon, Iorveth saw a large group of torches heading in his direction. For a split second, the elf thought it was the Temerians, hunting for him again, but then he saw the red of their uniforms and noticed they came from the opposite direction of the Temerian camp. Novigrad must be that way, he thought briefly, before realizing why such a large detachment of Redanians would be heading to the Temerian camp. 

There's a rat in their midst. 

Without truly realizing why, Iorveth found himself putting his food away and pulling his bow from behind him, climbing to the next tree closer to the road. The elf docked an arrow and let it fly into the neck of the slowest Redanian. It's just because they're dh'oine, he told himself, the fact that they're coming for the Temerians has nothing to to do with it. The fact that their coming for Ves has nothing to do with it. The fact that they'll tear Vernon Roche to shreds has nothing to do with it.

The elf followed them all the way to the camp, ticking off soldiers as he went. One, two, three, four, five. A fifth of the regiment had fallen by the time the reached the mouth of the caverns. Iorveth knew he'd make no real difference attacking from the back of the regiment. The Temerians would already all be dead by the time he got to the front of the regiment. If he got to the front of the regiment. He also knew the cave had small holes all over the roof of the back rooms that were used for ventilation. The elf hurriedly climbed to the top of the caven, following the cracks and holes as best he could until eventually finding Roche's. The commander hadn't lit a fire tonight. Likely, he'd hoped to keep a low profile for a while. That hadn't worked apparently. 

The elf placed his bow in its place on his back and gracefully dropped through the hole, onto the cold stone of the cavern floor. Roche jolted awake at the noise. "Roche, wake your men and prepare for battle. Redanians have tracked you here. They're hoping to take you by surprise." If the Temerian recognized the elf's voice, he didn't let on as he just left the room for a moment before returning to pull on his armor and equip this weapons. The first sounds of swords clashing could be heard from the front of the caverns. Roche cinched the last buckle and drew his sword, rushing to the scene of the battle. 

"I wonder is Ves bothered with a breastplate this time," Iorveth heard him mumble. The elf, again without knowing exactly why, followed him. Iorveth drew his sword and slashed at the Redanians in the soft glow of the few dying fires within the camp. He watched as the bodies plied up around and under his feet. The Temerians were more numerous and better trained, but they were exhausted and seemed to be dropping like flies. Iorveth stabbed a Redanian who'd been approaching Roche from behind and kicked out at the one attempting to rush the soldier to his right. The Temerians seemed unsure of the elf at first, unsure if he was actually on their side or simply killing as many dh'oine as possible, but quickly accepted him once he saved one of their nearby brothers-in-arms. 

A cutlass cut across Iorveth's exposed elbow from a lucky Redanian who'd approached from his blind spot. The elf whirled and stabbed his blade through the man's throat, listening to him choke on his own blood. The man fell to the ground with a wet thud. Iorveth glanced around the scene of the battle. The Temerians were now holding their own, forcing the Redanians to retreat out of their cavern and the elf glanced around for any stragglers or survivors. As if on cue, sounds of a struggle erupted from one of the back rooms. Iorveth readied his sword as he approached, turning the corner to see Vernon Roche struggling with the Redanian captain, a dark stain steadily spreading across the abdomen of the Blue Stripes commander.

"Where's your guardian angel now? Come on, whoreson, at least make it a challenge for me. I thought you were the best of the best. Foltest's little bitch. Course, you still didn't manage to save him, did you?" The Redanian taunted. Iorveth flew forward, pulling the Redanian away from Vernon and stabbing his blade forward into a chink in the his armor until it passed flesh, blood and bone and connected with the wall behind it all.

"You don't ever call him a whore's son," Iorveth spat, and shoved the captain to the ground. With almost no hesitation, Iorveth pulled the red bandana from his head and tossed it to Vernon, exposing the scarred side of his face to the human. "Use it to stanch the bleeding," the elf ordered, "I'll tell them where you are." 

Iorveth left the room without waiting for a response and pulled the first soldier he saw aside. Within moments, the most experienced medics were rushing to where Vernon lay. Iorveth turned at the mouth of the cavern and watched for a moment. The chaos was much worse than it had been earlier that night, but when Iorveth tallied the dead, he was oddly pleased to see a relatively small number of Blue Stripes. 

The elf turned without anything resembling a goodbye and disappeared into the night, a free elf once more.

~~ 

Vernon woke with Ves at his side. His eyes fluttered open and he immediately struggled to sit up, wincing when he felt the pain in his stomach. 

"Vernon!" Ves exclaimed, "Thank Lebioda. Don't move, you'll tear your stitches." The commander sighed and lay back in his cot. "Was it Iorveth?" she asked. 

"Was what Iorveth?"

"Was he the one that stabbed you?"

Vernon Roche took a moment to answer. "No. No, he wasn't. He saved my life. The Redanian captain had me pinned, he was toying with me. Iorveth tore him away and ran him through with his sword like he was no more than paper."

"Then, how do you have his bandana? We thought you pulled it off him in the struggle." 

"No. He gave it to me. To help stop the bleeding, he said. He also woke me and warned me of the attack."

Ves's eyes widened for a moment. "Did...?"

"The leader of the Scoia'tael just saved all our asses."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is pretty filler-y and I think it's a kinda boring chapter so I'm very sorry for that. BUT it's about to pick back up in the next chapter, I promise!

The first light of dawn began streaming through the trees shortly after the elf escaped the mayhem of the Temerian camp. He followed the main road a short distance to the first town, knowing that once he had a starting point, he would know where to go to return to the Scoia'tael camp. The town was already wide awake by the time the elf reached it and it took a great deal of stealth to avoid detection as he neared the center of town to see what name was carved into the signpost. Dh'oine scuttled around, completely unaware of the enemy in their midst. The elf fondled the dagger at his side while he hid in the shadows of the early morning light. Truthfully, he'd had enough killing for the day and only wanted to get back to safety. Well, what passed for safety for him. For an elf wanted across every country on the continent, there was no such thing as true safety. 

But he could dream.

The smooth leather of the dagger anchored Iorveth as he moved from shadow to shadow eventually getting close enough to know the name of the town. Carsten. The elf immediately felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the knowledge of where he was and, therefore, where he needed to go. The Scoia'tael camp was almost directly east, just across the river. They had a sister camp closer to Novigrad which Iorveth often traveled between, but at the moment he wanted to be as far removed from the dh'oine as he could. Additionally, Iorveth didn't trust the Temerians to simply let him go and if anyone was tailing him, he didn't want to lead them directly to another camp. 

The elf withdrew from the town, removing his hand from his dagger as he disappeared back into the forest, headed toward the water. The rising sun drifted through the trees, reminding the elf he was going the right direction. He'd not yet run into any enemies, monsters or otherwise, but the elf was not stupid enough to think that he wouldn't. He'd not lived this long by blindingly hoping he'd get lucky and have a quiet walk to or from somewhere. 

As if on cue, Iorveth arrived at the edge of the river to see three humans rummaging through the corpses of two drowners. It was possible they were witchers, but unlikely. Everyone knew the monster-slayers were dying out, and they rarely worked in pairs, let alone full groups. In fact, the only time Iorveth had ever seen such an oddity was when the Scoia'tael were helping the Kingslayers in Flotsam and Upper Aedirn. The elf contemplated his options: cross elsewhere, where he'd risk either being spotted by a patrol or too far a swim, hide and wait for the dh'oine to leave, or reveal himself to them. He hesitated a second too long, however, because just as the elf was about to turn to wait out the humans, one stood and raised his eyes to meet that of Iorveth. The elf noted that they were not, in fact, cat eyes, but did not discount that these men may still be dangerous.

The lip of the man who'd seen him curled in disgust and he stood, pulling his sword from its sheath and barking a command to his comrades. The other two quickly found him in the brush and similarly drew their swords. Iorveth sighed and responded in kind.

"No chance of resolving this peacefully then?" He questioned, stepping onto the riverbank. The dawn's early rays illuminated the elf and one of the men spat on the sand beside them as he approached them. 

"Did you resolve it peacefully when it was my nephew at the other end of your sword?" the man in the middle growled in response.

"I've no clue. I don't know who your nephew is."

"Was."

"Pardon?"

"Who my nephew was. You and your squirrels murdered him and his mate when they went out hunting last month," the man corrected. 

"This conversation greed tiresome," the elf growled, "Am I going to get a chance to add you three to my list of dead dh'oine or not?"

The men on the elf's sides moved to flank him as the man who accused Iorveth sped toward him, blade raised high. He lacked finesse, any semblance of grace or fluidity, and relied purely on his strength and aggression to win his battles for him. 

Just like all dh'oine, Iorveth thought, all but Vernon fucking Roche. 

The elf parried the blows easily, rolling out of the blockade the other two humans were attempting to make around him. He flicked out a throwing knife and sent it spiraling into the unarmored throat of the man to his right, causing him to drop with a wet thud as blood filled his lungs. The man in the center ran toward Iorveth with a yell, sword arm flailing wildly. Iorveth easily sidestepped man and tripped him, sending him sprawlling onto the damp sand. Hastily, the elf climbed onto the man and drove his blade through the man's back. 

Pulling himself to his feet, Iorveth faced the last man. His sword trembled in his hands as the elf approached him. The man didn't even protest as Iorveth disarmed him and plunged his sword into his chest. "I gave you a chance to run, dh'oine," the elf said and sheathed his sword. He gave the men a quick once over and, hating himself for doing it, pocketed the coins the men were carrying along with the small scraps of supplies they had on them. Their armor was too torn and battered for it to be worth carrying back to camp and their weapons, though they may have once been valuable, had been cared for so poorly they were now no better than common kitchen knives.

The elf approached the water, now especially eager to enter the cool water of the river to wash off the blood and dirt he'd accumulated in the fight. The cold water rushed around his ankles as he stepped into the river, running a slight shiver down his spine. Iorveth glanced around for any witnesses, guard or civilian and, finding none, dived into the water. Iorveth felt the chill of the water seeping into his bones as he propelled himself through the water, swimming quietly to avoid the attention of both the drowners and any patrols that may be nearby. 

Coming up on the other side, Iorveth slid into the trees, shaking the water off as best he could. The sun was high in the sky and its heat soon evaporated most of the water off of the elf as it baked the earth around him. The ground was hard under his feet and he ducked between the branches of the forest with ease as he drew closer to the Scoia'tael's main camp. Familiar landmarks greeted Iorveth like an old friend: the boulder a human couple once carved their initials on, the large tree where an old case of endregna eggs rotted, and finally the waterfall where the Temerians had captured him several days before. Evidently, he'd need to devise new paths for the elves to follow, since their enemy now knew this was a place they likely frequented. Iorveth and Roche may have made an agreement not to attack one another's camps, but Iorveth was not so naive to believe the agreement applied to the land around the camps. 

Iorveth stopped at the waterfall and, checking his surroundings, drew a bit of water to his mouth with cupped hands. The day was hot now and the water from the elf's earlier swim had all evaporated away. Nevertheless, the knowledge that his camp lay only a few miles away pushed him on and Iorveth soon stood and continued on his way. 

He entered the camp just before sunrise, watching as the lookouts high above him ran to tell the camp of his return long before he crossed the camp's entrance. By the time Iorveth finally arrived at the entrance, Ciaran was at the gate waiting for him. 

"Where have you been, Iorveth?" his second immediately questioned, "You'd never been gone this long before. Some of the boys were beginning to think you'd been captured."

Iorveth sighed, knowing curious ears were listening in on their conversation. "Meet me in my tent in a few minutes. I shall explain all then. For now though, I'd like to get something to eat," Iorveth replied, stalking off toward the kitchens. He dropped the money he'd taken off of the three men into the hands of the head scout with an order to buy supplies off of the next merchant seen by one of their patrols. In the kitchens, he was greeted with only a short nod from the elf cleaning a deer for the night's meal. He nodded toward a plate of chicken and fruit on the corner of the oak table. 

"They told me you were back. Figured you'd be hungry."

"You are truly a blessing, Agis," Iorveth replied, earning a chuckle from the older elf. 

"My pleasure."

Iorveth took the plate and retreated to his quarters where Ciaran already waited. "Greetings, Ciaran."

"What. Happened. You're never gone for more than three days without telling us, and you were just gone for over a week. And where is your bandana? You never take it off unless you're in camp."

Iorveth sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Everything else he could explain away, but the bandanna? That was going to be harder. "The boys are right. I was captured. The Temerians lured me into a trap and held me at their camp for several days."

"How did you escape?"

"I didn't. Roche let me go." Iorveth hadn't really meant to say that, but all the lies that went through his head were somehow more implausible than the truth. 

"Excuse me? Vernon Roche, leader of the Temerian Blue Stripes, enemy of elves everywhere, let you go? I'm meant to believe that? Iorveth, I'm your second in command. If you start lying to me, this whole camp with fall apart."

"I'm not lying, Ciaran. An old friend needed to talk to me and only the Blue Stripes know how to hunt and catch Scoia'tael alive, so he went to them for help. It was also part of their agreement that they not harm me. Well, not too badly, at least." The commander unconsciously rubbed his wrists. Ciaran didn't miss the movement and his eyes hardened when he glimpsed the bruises.

"Who is this friend?" Ciaran asked, eyes moving up to meet his commanders. They were no softer than they had been when they glimpsed his wrists. 

"Geralt."

Shock filled Ciaran's features. "Gwynbleidd? Here?" Iorveth nodded. "Why did he need to speak with you?"

"His ward, Cirilla, is being pursued by the Wild Hunt. They plan to make a stand with as many allies as they can find at the witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen. He asked if he could count on our aid."

"What was your response?" 

"I said he could count on my being there and that I would look into bringing a few archers. Do we have any to spare for a couple weeks or so?"

Ciaran hissed a breath in through his teeth. "Were it anyone other than Gwynbleidd, I would say no. We are spread too far in these forests as the humans continue moving outward. Seeing as it is Gwynbleidd though, I would suggest you use one of the camps to the north, closer to the fortress. The Scoia'tael up there are more warrior-like and would easily follow you into battle with anyone they could. It would also mean you could arrive faster if you don't have to march a large force that full distance."

Iorveth nodded in agreement. "One last thing Ciaran," he added as his second stood to leave his commander's quarters, "The Blue Stripes now know where our camp is and I theirs. I made a pact with Roche before I left that neither would attack the other's base camp. That being said-"

"You want me to scout out a new location?" 

"If possible, yes. I don't trust the dh'oine."

Ciaran nodded. "When do you plan to leave for Kaer Morhen, Iorveth?"

The elf paused, mulling the question over in his head. "By the end of the week. I want a number of archers set up by the time Geralt arrives with Cirilla."

"Best of luck." Ciaran ducked out of the tent and went about yelling orders to those loitering around the tent, likely trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

Luck, Iorveth thought, that's something I'm going to need a lot of.

~~

Roche's wound was healing nicely under the watchful eye of Ves and their resident medic. The wound itself had never been very deep. It had, however, caused a great deal of blood loss. The commander felt as though he needed to be up and moving by the end of the week, knowing that if he did not start his trip to Kaer Morhen soon, the battle would already be over by the time he and Ves arrived. 

The Blue Stripes had moved the camp while he recovered, ensuring the Redanians could no longer launch a surprise attack on them. Geralt had mentioned a fiend he'd killed not too far from their original camp, therefore opening its lair to new inhabitants. It was not as open as the caverns had been and there were no holes to let out smoke if they decided to start a fire, but it was better than being stabbed in your sleep. And, Roche knew if he ever needed a chore to force the men to do as punishment he could always force them to slowly chisel out new rooms in the rock. 

He sat up slowly, wincing ever so slightly at the dull pain in his abdomen before forcing himself to stand. His legs cracked and popped after standing for the first time in a week, but it felt good. His muscles stretched and pulled in a familiar way that made Roche ache to be sparring with his men. He painstakingly pulled on his armor, taking care to not mess up the bandages around his stomach, and fastened his weapons onto his person. Ves had most of the men out scouting for enemies or for nearby food sources, and only a handful remained in the caves.

"Alton!" Roche called, "Pick up your sword!" The commander pulled his own weapon and dropped into a fighting stance. 

Alton looked up from his game of dice, confusion written clearly across his tanned face. "Pardon? Sir, Ves has ordered us not to spar with you while you're recovering."

"And now I, your commander, am ordering you to do so. Draw your weapon." Silence had descended over the cavern as Alton glanced around cavern at his comrades, searching for a solution in each of their faces. Eventually, his eyes came back to Roche. 

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I agree with Ves. You've only spent a week healing. You can't be ready to fight yet. Dismiss me if you will, but I'll not fight you."

Vernon slumped and sheathed his sword. "Where is Ves?"

"Out scouting with the lads. Said she'd be back by dusk."

Roche pulled himself upright and looked outside. The sun was only just beginning to dip in the sky and dusk was a few hours off. "Fine. I'm doing drills until she returns. I'm leaving for Kaer Morhen by the end of this week, no matter what Ves says. I'll finish healing on the way there. The cut wasn't deep. I'll be fine."

Waiting for no response, Roche drew his sword once more and crossed to where the training dummies were set up across the room, practicing parrys, dodges, strong and slow attacks and fast and weak ones. Within two hours, he was covered in sweat and the sun seemed no lower in the sky. He knew the men behind him were watching, likely betting on if and when he would drop. Fine. He'd make sure to reward those who had faith in their leader. In all fairness, he wasn't doing much worse than normal. A bit slower and a bit weaker in his hits than normal, but that was to be expected. If only he could ensure he'd be back to full health by the time he was needed to defend Kaer Morhen against the wraiths of the Wild Hunt. Wounded or not, he'd given his word and he would not back down.

The commander took a long drink of water and sheathed his sword, moving instead to target practice. The men had hung several targets up around the cave, some genuinely to practice, some to make it look like their buddy's head was the target. Regardless, Vernon made use of these extra targets, pacing through the camp at various speeds and hitting the targets almost dead center every time. It was at the end of his target practice that Ves at last returned, leading a large squadron of men in with her. 

"Ves, we don't use that many men on a scouting mission!" Roche chastised, "The entire forest can hear you coming!" 

"We didn't. That's three separate squadrons. Borden led his men to look for food sources nearby and Nyle scouted for enemies with his group, monster and humanoid alike. I took my group out to look for a bit of both, but mostly to see if there was a better cave system we could inhabit since, let's face it, this is far too small. Now, you are not meant to be out of bed yet."

"While I commend you for taking such cautious measures while I was incapacitated, both with myself and with the men, I assure you I'm fine. Ask the men, they just watched me do drills for the past several hours." 

Ves turned to face the group of men who'd stayed behind. 

"He wasn't bad, I gotta say. A bit slower than normal and I think it took a bit more effort, but he still would've thrashed any of us," spoke one of the men. The others nodded in agreement. 

"Very well. You want to do this in part so you can go meet Geralt, am I correct?" Ves asked, raising an eyebrow. Roche nodded. The men around them watched in awe as she spoke to their commander in such a way, as if she were the commander rather than him. They watched in awe as Roche allowed it. "Duel me. Here and now. If you win, you can leave for Kaer Morhen whenever you please and I'll come with you. If I win, I decide if and when you leave that bed. Deal?"

Roche knew he could simply call rank and walk out right now, but, truth be told, there was nothing binding these men here. This was no longer a true military branch and if these men decided Roche was an ineffective or dishonest leader, they could walk out at any moment. So instead, Roche held out his hand and clasped that of his second in a firm handshake.

"Deal."

Ves dropped his hand and stepped back several paces, pulling her sword from its place on her hip. Roche followed suit and the men stepped back to form a ring around them. However, Ves's plan had one fatal flaw: fighting a person you taught everything to, down to how to hold a sword, means you know all of the techniques, their patterns and, most importantly, their weaknesses.

Ves flew at Roche as soon as she knew he was ready, a move which he easily side-stepped and jumped back from. Ves was fiery. Everything about her was passion, hot and vibrant, and it was obvious in everything she did. She was a woman who was tired of being seen as weak and Roche couldn't blame her. However, that didn't mean he couldn't use it to his advantage. Never wanting to be weak means never waiting for an opportunity, which means in turn that if Roche could last the first ten minutes in the ring with her, she'd exhaust herself and allow him to claim an easy victory.

Ves turned back to face him, charging for her commander once more. This time she was more calculated and Roche couldn't quite dodge her in time. Instead, he brought his blade up to block hers, the horrible screech of steel on steel filling the cavern. Roche used a sudden bout of strength to push Ves off balance, forcing her to scramble back. To a less experienced foe, this would have only been first blood, but it was all Roche needed to claim victory. He followed her, allowing his sword to catch on the back of her calf as she stumbled. The small slice was all that was needed to send Ves crashing to the ground and for Roche to have his blade level with her throat. 

"I believe I won the bet," Roche smiled and Ves rolled her eyes. The commander pulled his sword away and offered the woman a hand, which she took. The men around them broke out into cheers and groans, depending on who they had bet on. "We leave by the end of the week and we go on horseback. We've already wasted far too much time." 

The two moved to sit on a halved log on one side of the cave. "Fine. I'm still asking one of the many sorceresses I'm sure Geralt will have there to do a last minute check on your wound and do any last minute healing."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Oh, and Roche? I let you win."

"I know. You may be impulsive, Ves, but I sincerely hope you aren't stupid enough to simply charge into battle, blade flailing."

Ves didn't respond with more than a small smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BAM WE ARE BACK IN THE ACTION
> 
> also we have a reunion! Yay!

Iorveth heard the cracking of twigs beneath his mare's sturdy hooves, steady and surefooted on the narrow forest path. He'd been on the road for about a week, mostly walking, occasionally running across mounted bandits, whom he quickly disposed of and rode their mounts till the sun dipped below the horizon. He always left the horses on the outskirts of a small village, trying to find those that embraced the elves or dwarves among them. Though it was nice to do a kindness for once, Iorveth mainly wanted to ensure his tracks were constantly changing, should anyone be tracking him. A elf's footprints one day, the next a strong sturdy stallion with wide hooves, then a dainty little mare with hooves no wider than the elf's hand. A likely unnecessary measure, but one that helped the elf sleep at night.

Ciaran had told him before he left it should take about a week and a half for Iorveth to reach Kaer Morhen if he alternated time walking and riding. Iorveth needed more time, though. He needed to be able to find the Scoia'tael in the area and ask for aid and ensure they could get up to the fortress in time for the battle. He needed time. 

Iorveth spurred his mare forward, moving a quick trot to a canter that bordered on a flat out gallop. The horse tossed her head and kicked up slightly. Iorveth smiled at her antics. She had spunk. He liked that. Trees blurred past them as they raced forward, blowing past a group of Kaedweni guards so fast they didn't even recognize him. So, Iorveth realized, I've passed into Kaedwen. Despite the hatred that grew in the pit of the elf's stomach for the nation, he supposed he should be glad. Now, he merely needed to find his allies and make it to the mountains in the north. 

Iorveth let the reins rest against the side of the mares neck and pushed a leg into her side. The two moved off the beaten dirt of the road and entered the forest together. The mare slowed to a gentle canter, then to a trot, and finally dropped all the way down to a walk. Her nostrils flared and her sides heaved as she attempted to regain her breath. Iorveth reached down to pat his steed's neck, now slick with sweat.

"Hardd. Merch dda," he murmured in Elder Speech. The mare snorted continued walking. Iorveth chuckled softly and sat back in the saddle. There was something rather freeing about traveling on his own. Something about not having to put on a facade of any kind and allowing himself to just be was simply... enchanting. He knew he had a place to be and a limited amount of time to get there, but for now he could simply enjoy this moment.

But then that moment, as all moments must, ended.

A roar shook the trees and Iorveth felt his mare tense under him for no more than a millisecond before she had reared up, almost perpendicular to the sky, and sent him crashing to the ground. The horse took off, back toward the main road and as the ground shook with the footsteps of whatever was coming, Iorveth couldn't really blame her. He simply thanked his lucky stars he'd decided to put next to nothing in the mare's saddlebags and pulling himself up from the ground. He pulled his sword from its sheath and ducked behind a tree, waiting to see what was coming.

~~ 

Roche and Ves loped gently along the path through Kaedwen, conversing with one another as they did about the new camp Ves may have found, about the state Redania now found itself in with no leader, and simply about what they should called the fresh stallion Roche traded his exhausted one for at the last inn.

"No, Ves, I told you. I am not naming my horse Bunny."

"He's not even really yours!" Ves protested, "You'll trade him in at the next inn we stop at. Besides, he's so soft and sweet and he has such big ears... It fits him!"

"It's not exactly a name that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies now, will it? The infamous Vernon Roche astride his noble steed, Bunny!" Roche mocked in a surprisingly good fake announcer voice. 

"What, are you competing in knights' tournaments now?" was Ves' only response. 

Roche opened his mouth for a retort, but was cut off instantly by a deep roar that cut through the forests around them. "The fuck...?" he murmured.

"Some kind of monster, it's gotta be," Ves reasoned, "Some poor soul must have wandered into its lair." A grey mare with an empty saddle darted out into the road in front the them, whinnying and rearing. Vernon watched as Ves pulled her reins to the right, directing her mare toward the source of the sound. Without waiting for Roche's likely disapproval, the woman spurred her horse and took off toward the noise.

"I was going to ask if you thought we should go investigate, but it seems you you've already made up your mind," Roche said to no one. With a sigh, he too wheeled his horse to the right and followed Ves. He found her crouched beside a tree, the horse messily tied to a tree branch a safe distance away. Roche dismounted from Bunny and tied the stallion to a tree similarly far before stalking his way toward Ves.

"Can you at least tie up your top now?" Vernon asked impatiently, "Whatever it is, it's a monster and I imagine it won't care half as much as human soldiers do." Ves sighed and rolled her eyes but quickly did up her chest armor, never once looking away from the clearing. 

Another form, a humanoid, cowered behind a tree some distance from them. No, cowered was the wrong word. Waited. It's sword was drawn and it watched around the other side of the wood and Vernon was unsure if whoever it was even knew they were there. The figure was bathed in the shadows of the tall trees, rendering him imperceptible and Roche imagined a similar occurrence happening to them. Whoever it was, they were clearly battle hardened. Roche only hoped it was someone worth defending. After all, if the figure turned out to be King Henselt himself, Roche would kick himself for not letting the beast tear him to tiny, bloody ribbons. Of course, if it was King Henselt, he knew Ves at least would relish the chance to sink her blade into his chest. They were already Kingslayers now. What difference did one king more make?

Roche pulled himself from his vengeful fantasy. The figure was far to lithe and tall to be any of the Kaedweni nobles. His silhouette was somehow graceful without moving, like a dancer holding a particularly difficult pose for an extended period of time. Vernon found himself hoping the beast would enter the clearing, if only so he could see the figure's beautiful muscles move as they slashed and dodged at the beast. He needn't wait long, as within moments a huge creature charged through the trees. A red striped hide adorned the creature. Antlers atop its head, a third eyed that glowed red, and a height equal to that of a small house confirmed Roche's fears.

A fiend. 

Roche watched as the other figure darted out from behind his hiding place, firing arrows at the beast in a speed that was next to impossible. If Roche hadn't known the elf, he would've thought such speed had to be an illusion, a trick of the light. 

But he did know the elf.

Iorveth.

The elf's first arrow flew directly into the third eye of the beast, eliciting a horrible screech that made that make the hair on Vernon's neck stand on end. Most of the others sank into the beast's hide, on or near its joints. Hoping to slow the beast, Roche noted, clever Squirrel. The beast charged after Iorveth, teeth gnashing and claws swiping. The elf darted behind a nearby tree, quickly finding a handhold and swinging himself up into its branches and out of the fiend's ranger. For the moment. 

The beast started clawing at the trunk of the tree, slamming into it with such force, Roche could hear the wood splinter. He winced as he watched the tree shudder, as Iorveth looked frantically for a way out, another tree to leap too, but all branches that reached far enough to make the jump were to slender to hold his weight. 

"Ves," Roche ordered before he could think better of it, "See if you can get close enough to fire a crossbow bolt into its hip joint. That should get it away from the elf. If he can get an arrow into that last back joint, with any luck, it'll be weak enough for us to take down with our blades." 

Ves sputtered indignantly. "Did you see who that was, Roche? That's Iorveth!"

"Yes, and I'm willing to bet he's also on his way to help Geralt. We're going to need every blade we can get and I hate to admit it, but that Squirrel knows his way around a battlefield. Now go."

Ves slunk toward her target, readying her crossbow as she went. Roche watched as she lined up the shot and allowed the bolt to fly directly into the bones of the beast. It screamed and whirled on her, but Ves was already gone. She'd fled the moment the bolt left the bow and now worked to catch her breath several trees away. 

Iorveth, on the other hand, barely spared the two more than an amazing glance, before doing as Roche predicted and firing two final arrows into the beast's last strong leg. The fiend crumpled to the ground, unable to bear the pain of moving anymore. Iorveth dropped his bow into its place on his back before drawing his sword and leaping out of the tree. He plunged his sword down into the head of the beast, which let out a mournful cry before going still. Roche stood from the shadows and drew close to the elf and his quarry. The human drew his own sword and saw Iorveth's muscles tense again, ready for another fight.

"I'm taking its head," Roche said, not quite looking at the elf, but not quite looking away from him. "It's likely worth something. And, to be honest, I'd like to be completely sure it's dead." 

Iorveth relaxed and sheathed his sword. Roche noted how his chest rose and fell under his armor as he attempted to regain his breath. Sweat dripped down his face and plastered his hair to the skin. He still didn't have a replacement bandana to cover his scar either. The elf slumped against a nearby tree and closed his eye, breathing deeply. People liked to say that Iorveth was an exception to the "all elves are beautiful" rule because of his scar. Looking at the elf now though, Roche couldn't quite understand that sentiment. He was not traditionally beautiful, no, but he was still almost ethereal in appearance. He was statuesque, otherworldly. Like an injured angel or a painting of a great battle. He was beautiful, in a terrible kind of way.

Ves joined the other two beside the corpse of the fiend just as Vernon raised his sword to slice the beast's head off. He wished he'd kept something better suited for carving on his person, but didn't care quite enough to go rummage through his saddlebags to find something better. He'd care for his sword when they reached Kaer Morhen. 

"I suppose I should thank you," Iorveth said at last, eye still closed.

"Indeed you should. That's the second time I've either spared of saved your life. God knows why I do still."

Iorveth barked out a harsh, bitter laugh and cracked his eye open. "I saved your entire camp less than a week ago, would you really like to compare debts? Not to mention our little encounter in Flotsam." The human growled low in his throat and the elf smirked at his victory. His words were harsh, but there was no real bite to them, Vernon knew that. This was their dance, this was how it always worked. Their relationship was entirely based on wanting to be the one to end the other's life, but never quite being about to do so when the opportunity arose. Vernon knew he was playing with fire. He just didn't care.

"Are you on your way to Kaer Morhen?" Ves asked, defusing the situation ever so slightly.

"Indeed I am. I'm attempting to find the Scoia'tael of the area first though. Skilled archers could easily turn the tide of a battle." A small smile crept across the face of the elf as he remembered to their victory at Vergen. 

Ves stepped forward. "Travel with us. We are about to rely on each other in a battle which is almost certainly suicide. We may as well help each other before we get there." Iorveth looked at Roche for his disgust at her suggestion, oddly finding their was none. 

"She's right, though I can scarcely believe it myself," the commander found himself saying. Iorveth opened his mouth to reply when a rustling of the branches came from their left.

 

"Iorveth?" A small voice spoke from the trees. The three turned to look for its source and found only a small elven girl in patchwork armor. "It really is you," she whispered upon seeing the scar that marred the right side of his face. He still hadn't gotten a replacement mask for the one he'd tossed to Roche. "If you seek the Scoia'tael, I can lead you to them," she told him, "but the dh'oine will stay here." Iorveth gave the humans beside him a glance. 

"We'll ride up to the next inn. Meet us there when you're done," Roche offered. Iorveth nodded and reached out his hand. Vernon grasped the elf's forearm in a modified handshake. 

"Don't get killed, elf."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Speech translation:  
> Hardd. Merch dda- Beautiful. Good girl. (This is actually Welsh, but I couldn't find the real words for it in Elder Speech so)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IORVETH GETS HELP + FLUFF  
> EMOTIONS AND SMUT ARE SOON BUT NOT YET JUST BEAR WITH ME

Iorveth followed the girl through the woods a short ways and found himself wishing he still had his horse to make the journey faster. Roche and Ves wouldn't wait forever and Iorveth knew there would be no shortage of foul creatures in the woods around Kaer Morhen. It would be nice to have some capable allies. 

A mile or so into the trees, Iorveth found himself surrounded by a treetop village. Houses were built around the trunks and branches of huge trees and had bridges connecting them all together. The elf found himself felling oddly reminiscent of the forest around Flotsam. His memories of the place were mostly all terrible, but that forest had been perfect for waging guerrilla warfare. The trees there could have been used this same way. The houses' rope ladders ascending away from the forest floor pulled Iorveth from his thoughts.

"Elidyr!" a tall, heavily-armed elf called down from the center building's platform, "Who've you brought us?"

The elven girl, Elidyr, stepped forward. "Iorveth, one of the most feared commanders of the Scoia'tael to ever walk this earth. He asks for assistance."

The elf turned to focus his gaze on Iorveth. A brutal scar marred the front of his throat, as if someone'd tried to slit it, but didn't quite get the job done. "What kind of assistance?"

Iorveth stepped forward as well. "I am going to fight for my friend and ally, Gwynbleidd. His ward has been found, but he's excepting the Wild Hunt to attack to fortress to try to capture her. Archers would greatly help our chances of defeating them."

"Then Gwynbleidd should recruit them himself," the elf replied smugly.

"He has," Iorveth countered, his tone challenging. "He recruited me."

The girl who'd brought Iorveth began to slink away from the two leaders, sensing the tension rising between them. Heat flared through Iorveth's body at this elf who dared try to mock him. His hand itched to draw a throwing dagger from his side, to impale this elf into the very core of the tree he lived in. The other leader noticed this. "Fine," he said at last, "Fine. You'll have twenty of my best archers. No more."

Iorveth felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Truth be told, he'd anticipated no more than ten. "That will be sufficient. Thank you. They will leave tomorrow and need be there in no more than one week. I will mark the destination for you but I will arrive separately to prepare those present for their arrival. Understood?"

"Indeed." It was only now that Iorveth realized the other leader had been staring at his empty eye socket for the entirety of their conversation. Iorveth resisted the urge to touch it, to hide it. The leader turned and re-entered his home, allowing the camp to return to business again. Elidyr stepped back out from the trees, this time holding a map of Kaedwen. Iorveth took it from her and a quill from his inventory, circling where he knew Kaer Morhen hid amongst the northern mountains and dotting a small path for the elven archers to follow.

"Thank you for your help," he whispered to the girl. She only nodded. Iorveth bent down to place his writing utensils back into his back and slung it into place on his body. When he turned back to face her, she was gone. 

~~

It took Iorveth until late that night to find his way to the inn Roche and Ves had mentioned. It was slightly rundown, but in more of a well-loved way. It was the kind of place one instantly knew had been run by the same family and frequented by the same merchants for decades. It felt like a home.

Iorveth scanned for signs of the two Temerians from the trees, knowing he couldn't simply walk in. Regardless of how the people in the inn felt about him, Iorveth knew the price Henselt had put on his head would sway the humans inside to do stupid things. Stupid things that would end in a massacre. Ves, thankfully, was outside rubbing down one of the horses in a small makeshift stable. A small dapple gray mare that looked suspiciously like the one Iorveth had been riding earlier lazily chewed a mouthful of hay next to her. The elf approached the woman, trying his best to appear casual. 

Ves turned at the sound of his footsteps and smiled tiredly. "Is she yours?" she asked, gesturing to the mare beside her. "She ran out of the woods where we fought the fiend. Roche thought you may want a horse of your own if we're to travel together." Iorveth's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yes, she is. Thank you."

Ves only shrugged. "Can't have you slowing us down. Come on. Roche is waiting for us." She dropped the brush into a nearby bucket and gave her bay one last pat before turning and leaving the barn. Iorveth walked beside her, taking notice of the fact that the woman walked on his right side, blocking his scar from anyone who may be watching. 

The pair soon approached a side door of the inn upon which Ves knocked gently. The door opened to reveal a rather grumpy looking Vernon Roche, still in his full armor. His weapons, Iorveth noted, leaned up against the wall by the bed. "Finally," Roche muttered, standing back to let the elf in, "Only took you half a century."

Iorveth smirked slightly. "Sorry, I forgot that's almost entire lifetime for you dh'oine, isn't it?" Ves sighed from the doorway. 

"You two have fun, I'm going to bed. You make any move against him and I will personally skin you alive." She didn't wait for a response before walking away and allowing Roche to shut the door behind him. 

"Why isn't she staying here?" Iorveth asked as soon as the door closed.

"It's less suspicious for us to book two rooms and say we're waiting on a guest than to book one and ask for a spare cot. Three would be even worse because no man would let his wife travel alone or with a strange man. It's what we always do when we travel."

Iorveth glanced at the single, two-person bed in the room. "Then why am I in here with you rather than Ves?" 

"Honestly, I think she just wants to be alone for a bit. Maybe she wants to bathe in an actual tub rather than a creek. She just took it and I know better than to ask questions if she's not endangering anyone or herself. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on you."

Iorveth scoffed. "I'm not going to kill anyone while they sleep."

"Can't be too careful. Did you persuade any of your fellow Squirrels to come help us?"

"Twenty of the local Scoia'tael's best archers. They should arrive a day or two after us."

"Good. I hate to say it, but we're going to need all the help we can get." Iorveth nodded grimly. "I brought a plate of chicken with strawberries down for you. Figured you'd be hungry. It may be cold by now but-"

Roche gestured to the desk that sat next to the room's fireplace. Iorveth was there in moments. The chicken was cold but it was tender and the strawberries were sweet and juicier that he'd expected for the season. Likely they'd been imported from the south then, causing Iorveth to wonder how expensive they had been. Truth be told, it had been quite a while since Iorveth had eaten real food. He hadn't been able to enter any inns on the way since he was so recognizable. The best he'd been able to do was loot the bandit camps he stumbled upon for cooked food. 

Roche watched the elf with an amused but slightly sad smile. How often did he get real food to eat? He knew he elf was skinny, his men had tried to strip him of his armor when they caught him. Vernon was in agreement at first before he saw how little flesh the elf actually had. He had barely any fat on his entire body and, though he could not count them, the outline of the elf's ribcage was clearly visible. Truth be told, Roche didn't care if his enemy had just eaten before he arrived. He'd shove that chicken down his throat if he had to.

As Iorveth ate, Vernon began unbuckling his armor, laying each piece gently beside his weapons. He stripped down to only a thin linen shirt and his underclothes. Iorveth stood from the desk, revealing a completely empty plate and began to do the same. Vernon felt a short wave of relief at the sight of the empty plate. Iorveth laid his armor and weapons in a bare corner of the room far from the bed. The elf too stripped to his linen shirt and underclothes, but his shirt displayed the trouble of being Scoia'tael. It was obviously too large and looked as though it had been altered several times for different bodies. Scratches marred the white cloth and stains of what looked like blood dotted around the stomach and sides. Vernon debated asking the elf about them but decided against it. Iorveth glanced at the room's single bed.

"I'll take the floor. It'll be better than the ditches you dh'oine insist we sleep in," he murmured bitterly. 

"The bed has room for two, Iorveth. Both of us are men of honor," Roche ignored Iorveth's snort, "who wouldn't kill the other in his sleep. Besides, this may be the last actual bed we see until we reach Kaer Morhen." The Temerian moved to the bed and sat down on its edge. "Come on now. I'm not gonna bite you."

"No, you could do far worse than that," Iorveth muttered but sat on the opposite side of the bed. The two peeled back the covers and slid underneath, taking care to never let their skin touch. An uneasy silence settled over them. The only noises that could be heard at this late an hour was the crackling of the flames in the fireplace and the howling of the wind outside. The thought alone of sleeping outside tonight made Iorveth shiver. 

"Are you cold? We can put more wood on the fire." he heard Vernon say. His voice was somewhat uncertain, like he didn't know if he was allowed to ask such a question. It caught Iorveth off guard. Roche was normally so strong, so vibrant and fiery but now he sounded almost nervous. 

"No, I'm alright. Just thinking."

"Can I ask what about?"

"How glad I am to have a roof over my head for the first night since I left," he murmured. Roche nodded in understanding.

"I don't suppose you can stop in the inns along the way, can you?"

"Not if I want to get there alive and inconspicuously."

"Then sleep elf," the human murmured, "Enjoy the softness of the bed and the warmth of the room. I don't know when we'll get another."

Iorveth sighed and shifted in the bed until he was both comfortable and able to keep an eye on the man beside him. Roche's eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady movement. Iorveth doubted the man was asleep yet, but the muscles of his face had softened enough to make him look almost innocent. Nothing like the man Iorveth knew him to be. Nothing like the man Roche desperately tried to prove to the world he was. 

The elf stared at the ceiling, running over his day as he waited for sleep to come within his reach. He worked over the different ways this battle could go, what he could do differently, who he should work hardest to protect, what he would do after the battle was over, provided they survived of course. 

Iorveth was pulled from his thoughts by a soft whimper next to him. He glanced to Roche. The man's face was skewed up in an expression of pain or terror. Perhaps some strange mix of the two. Iorveth whispered the human's name in an attempt to rouse him, to no avail. The elf placed a hand on Roche's shoulder and was astonished to see the human lean into his touch and swing an arm over Iorveth's midsection. A heavy sigh escaped the human and his face relaxed into a peaceful expression once more. 

Iorveth debated whether or not to shove him off, but ultimately decided against it. At least he'd have something to lord over Roche tomorrow. The elf found himself relaxing under the touch of the human and closed his eye at last. Roche wanted to beat him in combat, to prove he was better. He wouldn't dare kill him in his sleep and Iorveth knew it. With a sigh Iorveth allowed his head to dip into the crux of Roche's neck and let sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK YAY AND HOPEFULLY GOING BACK TO QUICK UPDATES


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE ARRIVE AND THINGS HAPPEN

Iorveth woke first that morning. The consciousness came back to him slowly, drifting ever closer. His dream faded and he became aware of the bed underneath him. The elf registered a body next to him, warm and clutching tightly to his shirt. The person's head rested on his chest and his arm was flung protectively over their back. Iorveth didn't quite remember who this person was or how they'd come to share his bed, but they were too relaxed to mean any harm and they were a warm and comforting presence so he allowed them to stay there.

It was only when sunlight began to filter in through the windows and shine on the elf's closed eye did he truly come into consciousness. His single eye cracked open and slowly adjusted to the light filling the room. The first thing it focused on was the head of dark dirty blond hair resting on his chest. Iorveth's entire body froze, his breath stuck in his throat. Vernon seemed to feel his tension and he muttered something unintelligible and stroked a hand over Iorveth's chest. Before the elf could consider what to do though, he heard the sound of someone fiddling with the lock to their door.

Iorveth cursed himself and Roche for placing their weapons so far from the bed. He readied himself to push Roche to the side just as the lock clicked and the door slid open. Iorveth's eyes darted to watch the figure that stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when he recognised her.

"Ves, thank Melitele. A little warning next time?" the elf said, body falling back against the pillows. Ves didn't move. She didn't even give a sign she'd heard him. Her eyes were firmly fixing on Roche's sleeping figure, which still had not moved from his chest. Iorveth followed her eyes and swore quietly. Roche stirred on top of him.

"What," Ves began, her voice stern and full of warning, "did you do to him?" She began reaching for the dagger at her hip. Iorveth looked into her eyes and suddenly he understood why she had the reputation she did. Her icy blue eyes cut into him and he knew that if she discovered he'd managed to harm Vernon, she would slice his head from his shoulders before Iorveth could even open his mouth to explain himself. 

"He was having a nightmare. I reached out to wake him, calm him, do something, but he latched onto me as soon as I touched him. It seemed to calm him," the elf shrugged, somewhat lost for an explanation himself. Ves seemed satisfied though, and dropped her dagger back into its sheath. 

"Why did you let him?"

Iorveth shrugged. "It seemed easier." She didn't need to know how long it'd been since he'd felt the warmth of someone curled up against him, or that he loved the feeling of Vernon's rough, callused hands gently tracing lines up and down his stomach. She turned to try to hide it, but Iorveth saw a ghost of a smile cross her lips. 

It was gone when she turned back. "He needs to get up. We need to get out of here. Now. Keadwini soldiers are already on the move." She tossed a rag at the the head of the sleeping human and moved to sit in the chair near the foot of the bed. Roche muttered something and stirred from the elf's chest, pulling the rag from his skin. The human pushed himself up and opened his eyes slowly. His eyes takes up and down the elven figure below him for a moment before resting on Iorveth's half-hidden face. The expression on both was unreadable as both human and elf tried to discover the others feelings without revealing their own. Roche stole a quick glance to Iorveth's lips before breaking away.

Iorveth continued to study Vernon even after he looked away for a few seconds longer. He studied every ridge of his face, the stubble that covered his jaw, his dark amber eyes, the way he clenched his jaw when he was worried or concentrating. At least, he broke his gaze. "Ves says we need to go. The Kaedwinis are looking for us. The sooner we arrive at Kaer Morhen, the better."

Vernon Roche nodded and stood from the bed. Ves smirked to herself as she watched the pair, but said nothing as they slowly pulled on their weapons and armor. "Ves, did you get food for the journey?" Roche asked, buckling his shoulder guards in place. She nodded.

"It's in the saddlebags and the horses are all tacked up. I figured you'd both be awake by the time I finished." Her little smirk had returned. Roche rolled his eyes but said nothing. The elf strapped his bow into place on his face and glanced about for a scrap of cloth to cover his scar, letting a soft growl escape his throat when he found none. Vernon noticed Iorveth's struggle and crossed to a small bag near Ves's feet. He withdrew a slightly tattered red bandana, folded crisply and washed clean of any stains.

"I meant to give this to you last night," Vernon started, holding the cloth out to the elf, "You saved my life. Thank you." The man didn't meet his eyes, but Iorveth saw a slight blush creep onto Roche's face. Trying to hide his surprise at the gesture, Iorveth took the bandana from Vernon's outstretched hands and fastened it onto the scarred side of his face.

"If anyone's going to kill you, Vernon Roche, it will be me. I'm not about to let some blasted Redanian take that away from me," Iorveth replied, a slight smile on his face. Roche let out a soft chuckle.

"I figured as much." The pair finished attaching their weapons before slowly filing out after Ves and heading toward the stables as casually as they could manage. The sun was still fairly low in the sky, but it was later than Iorveth normally woke and far colder than he was used to.

The elf mounted his little grey mare first and set off separately from Roche and Ves to ensure anyone tailing them wouldn't catch on to them traveling together. The crisp morning air seemed to have seeped into her because her head tossed every few steps and she pranced about, regardless of where Iorveth told her to go. 

Soon though, he was able to stop at a fork in the road and wait for Roche and Ves to catch up to him. Within the next few minutes, Ves came into view on her bay with Roche trotting alongside her on a great white stallion. Iorveth's eyebrows raised. "Compensating for something?" he asked, eyes never leaving the horse.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Roche replied, a real smile pulling across his lips. Iorveth's mare immediately began pulling her way to be next to him, only relaxing when she was settled beside him. "Your mare seems to like him, at least."

"He probably knocked her up last night," Iorveth replied curtly. "Maybe I should bring her back with me. The Scoia'tael can always use more horses."

Roche growled in the back of his throat. "They do not. Bunny will be coming with us though. We can take her off your hands as well if you'd like."

"You named your horse Bunny?" Iorveth repeated, barely holding back a laugh. 

"I'm going to regret saying that, aren't I?"

"You don't already?"

As they bantered, Ves hung back behind the two, making no effort to hide the large smile on her lips. If this was what it took to get the two to finally admit their feelings, she would just have to suffer through it. 

~~

The journey to Kaer Morhen took another two and a half days. Each night they made camp in the forest and each night their fire went out before dawn. The cold was bracing and spurred the three on to make it to the keep before the next nightfall. When the old witcher fortress came into view at last, huge grind broke out across the faces of all three travellers. Whether it was at the prospect of real food, a warm bed, or simply the end of the journey, none could say, but the relief they felt was unparalleled.

Iorveth spurred on his horse as they approached the gate and heard Roche and Ves do the same. The ground was already paved with the hoofprints from Geralt's other allies. Iorveth just hoped none of them were Geralt and Cirilla themselves. 

Soon, the three reached the open gate to Kaer Morhen's outer courtyard. They slowed the horses to a trot as they entered the keep's gate and dismounted when the mounts' hooves met the soft grass within. A witcher with a large scar marring one side of his face came down to greet them. 

"Friends of Geralt's, I assume?" he asked. Vernon stepped forward.

"Indeed. Vernon Roche of the Temerian Blue Stripes and my second, Ves. Iorveth of the Scoia'tael traveled with us as well. He has twenty archers that should arrive in the next few days."

The witcher raised his eyebrows, once at the realisation Iorveth and Roche had traveled together and then again at the mention of twenty additional archers. "Damn. Well, welcome to Kaer Morhen. Name's Eskel. Lambert and Vesemir are both up in the keep and a few others have already arrived. Vesemir will see if we can get you somewhere with a nice bed and fireplace to sleep for the next week or so. You can just untack your horses and leave them here. They'll find our horses in the surrounding lands and stay with them till you need them next."

Eskel turned and headed back up the way he'd come, leaving the three alone once more. Iorveth began unpacking his mare and set his tack under a small lean-to shelter nearby. Roche and Ves joined him shortly and soon the three watched their horses trot out the gates and drop to roll in the lush grass surrounding the keep. Ves was the first to turn away.

"I don't know about you two, but a bit of sleep in a real bed sounds very nice right about now. I'm going to go find this Vesemir and see if I can't get some rest before Geralt arrives." She didn't wait for a response, simply turned on her heel and started off for the keep. Iorveth found himself about to turn to follow when Roche's hands were on him, pushing him backwards. His back hit the stone wall with a hard thud and Roche's hands gripped his arms tightly. Iorveth watched him carefully, waiting for the human to slit his throat or snap his neck. Roche's eyes bore into his, expression unreadable.

For a few moments, the world seemed to stop. The only noise was their breathing and the only movement was that of their eyes searching the other's. Then the spell was broken. Roche dove forward and captured Iorveth's lips with his own. The kiss was hungry, desperate. Iorveth froze at the contact, utterly shocked for a brief moment, before returning the kiss. Vernon released the elf's arms and snaked his own up along Iorveth's abdomen. Iorveth brought his own arms up to pull Roche's body tighter against him, letting out a slight moan when he felt the friction between them. 

Abruptly, Roche broke away from the winded elf. Iorveth watched the human as he stepped back, working to catch his own breath. 

"Don't die out there elf," Vernon murmured, "if anyone's gonna kill you, it's gonna be me."

The human turned and stalked off toward the fortress after Ves and his quarters, leaving Iorveth to try to understand what just happened. His fingers came up to brush his swollen lips.

 _Oh, I've no doubt you're going to be the death of me, Vernon Roche,_ Iorveth though, _one way or another._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a kiss! And we've arrived! Yay! Real talk though, I really appreciate all of you sticking with me through this slow burn and I am pleased to announce we are almost done with the slow burn! Yay!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Comments and kudos are welcomed and appreciated!  
> (Also if you have any criticism of the writing or the world itself, please leave it. I'm always trying to improve.)  
> Be my friend on tumblr! @notaveryconvincinglie


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